


dance while the sky crashes down

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: But still idiots, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FLUFF ALERT SOUND THE ALARMS, Other, alternate scene to replace the ending of the man in glass, he just has the Energy of one okay, i care them so much can't you tell, idiots to lovers, juno is a great dancer, juno is a one-hit k.o. anytime nureyev calls him dear, juno misses benzaiten still, kinda? mostly comfort but, nureyev was a ballerina at one point fight me on that, peter nureyev and the inherent intimacy of pet names, post s3e2:Juno Steel and the Man in Glass, pre s3e6: Juno Steel and the Tools of Rust, the boys are DANCING and COMMUNICATING, they still apologize and communicate don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: "Good evening." Peter smiles at me, sharp teeth poking past blood-red lips. That smile promises secrets and safety, danger and forgetfulness. I hate that I know exactly how it would feel pressed against my own, my jaw, my neck, my shoulder.Focus. "What are you doing, Ransom?" I ask, the words coming out harsher than I would have liked.He raises an eyebrow delicately. "Am I not welcome here? If not, I can leave.” He turns to the door, taking half a step toward it. “I'm sure you know how that feels, leaving."I let air whistle out through my teeth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that- of course you're welcome here. I just was...surprised." I tighten my hold on the dress, taking the solid texture of the fabric as an anchor. "Please don't leave," I say finally, feeling more vulnerable in that moment than I had all day.ORi wanted them to dance and be happy let me have this please.
Relationships: Juno Steel/Healthy Communication, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 12
Kudos: 67
Collections: Golden Podcast Pain and Fluff





	dance while the sky crashes down

**Author's Note:**

> I AM. SO PROUD OF THIS. i've been working on this for a while now, so excited to share it with you guys! a few things before we ~dive in~  
> this is partially inspired by a wonderful animatic that everybody needs to watch. here is the link (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dWrOKhr9iG0) and the timestamp for the part i'm talking about starts at 2:57  
> the songs they dance to are real earth songs! the first one is Waltz in C-Sharp Minor by Chopin and number two is Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra. i could not resist okay.  
> THAT'S ALL THANK YOU!  
> please let me know what you think!  
> xxx

The Carte Blanche groans softly as it settles into steady flight, empty space shining through the small window in my cabin. I sigh, taking in the sight for a moment. Beyond the metal walls looms an unreachable, untouchable, beautiful space. This is my home now. Somehow, I fit into the gaps between worlds, finding a place for myself nobody can take from me.

The ship turns and the dying light of the closest star shoots into the room, a sudden sparkle illuminating it. _The dress_. I cross over to the bed and unfold the golden gown I had worn earlier that day. I let the material slip through my fingers, the silk feeling like woven sunshine against my skin. It catches the light and throws it back into the room, glimmering against the walls and ceiling.

I fold it gently over his arm, scanning the floor for any hint of the packaging it had come in. Somebody must have thrown it out… From beyond the door, I hear movement.

“Hey, Rita?” I call quietly. “Is that you?"

With a creak and a slight thud, the door opens. A smooth voice answers me, "I'm afraid not, Juno, but if you would like I could see if she is still awake?"

"Still awake, what do you-" I whirl around, the dress still clutched in my arms, to see- "Oh, hey, Nur- Ransom."

"Good evening." Peter smiles at me, sharp teeth poking past blood-red lips. That smile promises secrets and safety, danger and forgetfulness. I hate that I know _exactly_ how it would feel pressed against my own, my jaw, my neck, my shoulder.

_Focus_. "What are you doing, Ransom?" I ask, the words coming out harsher than I would have liked.

He raises an eyebrow delicately. "Am I not welcome here? If not, I can leave.” He turns to the door, taking half a step toward it. “I'm sure you know how that feels, leaving."

I let air whistle out through my teeth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that- of course you're welcome here. I just was...surprised." I tighten my hold on the dress, taking the solid texture of the fabric as an anchor. "Please don't leave," I say finally, feeling more vulnerable in that moment than I had all day.

There is that smile again. It curves into a familiar shape, wicked sharp and taunting me softly.

"Well, if you insist..." Peter shuts the door quietly, walking with fox-footsteps over to my bed and sitting down on the edge.

A faint whiff of cologne trails behind him and I’m struck by how _him_ it is. This is Nureyev in front of me, as much as he would like to pretend otherwise, and I know _exactly_ how to take him apart with a word, with a touch, with a whisper-

That was in the past. I’m not allowed to have that anymore.

"Juno?"

I jump slightly, realizing I had been lost in thought. "Yeah?"

Nureyev laughs, shifting on the bed. "Where are you right now?"

"Right here," I say defensively. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, dear detective, your face says otherwise."

"Where do you think I am?" For something to do with my hands, I open the door to the small closet and pull out a hanger.

"Well, knowing you, you're probably off on some great adventure somewhere, beating yourself up for things that aren't your fault and worrying about things that you cannot change." Peter leans back on his hands, surveying me with a grin.

"Who's the detective now?" I mumble, sliding the dress onto the hanger.

"Ah, I take it I am correct in my guess, then?"

"Pretty close, yeah."

We don’t say anything for a while, the only sounds the swishing of golden fabric against my hands and our twin breathing. My heartbeat slams a tattoo against my ribcage, every thump reminding me of our last disastrous night together.

I took a beautiful thing and tore it to pieces. What am I doing, still thinking about him? I broke his heart. No, I don’t even have the _privilege_ of claiming that I broke Peter Nureyev’s heart.

But he is still here. He is still looking at me with that _smile_ and I don’t know what to do.

"So..." I say, trying to break the silence.

"Always the eloquent speaker," Nureyev hums.

I feel my skin burn under his unrelenting gaze. I realize I am still fiddling with the hanger, trailing the hem of the gown against the metal floor. I hurriedly hang it up, shutting the closet door with a click. "Uh, good job today. That was some heist we pulled off, wasn't it?"

"Oh, it sure was. Although-"

I hold up a hand. "If you are here to critique everything I did wrong today, _I don't want to hear it_. Trust me, anything and everything you say has already been said."

He has the audacity to look hurt. "No, dear Juno, you misunderstand me, I simply-"

"Don't-" I interrupt again. "Please don't. Not like that."

“My dear detective, _what_ are you on about?” he asks, looking concerned.

I lean back against the wall, trying to breathe deeply without inhaling the scent of Peter Nureyev. "Just...don't. I don’t know, I’m _trying._ ” He watches me as I ramble, trying to remember what it felt like to be in control of your own life, your words, your heart. “ _I_ know I messed up. I hate that the memory of what I've done will plague me every day for the rest of my life.

“I know there is no way you can forgive me; I wouldn't forgive me either. Actually," I pause, thinking of the past months in Hyperion City, "I haven't forgiven myself. But don't patronize me." I close my eyes briefly, trying to ignore the way they were suddenly burning.

"Juno..."

His voice is so achingly soft I almost fall apart right there. It has been so long since I’ve heard that level of gentleness from, well, _anyone_ , myself included. He is making this whole _let’s-move-on-and-let-bygones-be-bygones_ thing much more difficult than I had imagined.

"No, Ransom. I know where we stand. It'll just be easier if we...forget about it. I know what Buddy said about family, but maintaining a strictly professional relation-"

"Juno." I stop speaking as Nureyev sits up slowly, a peculiar look on his crystal face. "Will you please shut up and listen, for once?"

He waits until I nodded, once, in understanding.

" _Thank_ _you_. You're right about one thing- _we_ messed up. Our last meeting did not end the way I would have liked it to. But isn't this a fresh start?"

Something painfully small flutters in my chest at the look on Nureyev's face. It was a broken, tired sort of face, the sort of expression one usually hides with a mask.

But he is here, looking so open and weary and _hopeful_ that I can’t help but begin to breathe again. Before I can stop myself the words are tumbling out of my mouth and into the sticky air between us, jumbled and confused, but hey, at least I’m trying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If I could go back and do it all over again I would, just to see you look at me like that again. There is a lot to talk about, too much to say- but Ransom?"

"Drop the silly moniker, I regret choosing it already," he says, his eyes shining with normally concealed emotion.

"Nureyev. Do you mean what you said?"

"Which part?" He knows what I’m talking about but is too stubborn to do anything about it. This isn’t exactly his fault, but it would be nice to have a little more _help_ being open here.

I steel myself for my next words. _Huh, steel. I’m hilarious_. "Can we- is this a chance for I- for _us_ to start over? Because I’m willing to try."

"And I as well." He crosses one leg over the other, looking at his hands in his lap. To anyone else, this would seem like a thoughtless movement, a motion to get more comfortable.

But I know better; I know Nureyev. _Nothing_ he does is thoughtless. He…he is _nervous_ right now. Well give me an apron and a plasma blaster and call me a bartender, Peter Nureyev is _nervous._

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you. _Thank you_. I won't assume that you would be comfortable with- we have a lot to talk about...can I...?" I look at him, silhouetted against the window, and let my heart begin to dream once more.

"I know, darling." Nureyev pats the bed beside him, beckoning. "But we have to start somewhere." 

I sink onto the small mattress across from him, tucking my legs underneath my body. "I'm sorry," I breathe again.

Nureyev smiles at me. "So am I."

Conversation is a barbed wire fence between us, but with gentle probing, we gradually cross no-man's-land together, leaving a lifetime's worth of apologies and explanations behind us.

"...then Jet picked us up from Hyperion City and brought us here. The moment I saw you, well..." I laugh softly. "I knew I was in trouble."

Nureyev grins at me, teasing, the layers of Rex Glass, Duke Rose, Monsieur Dauphin, and who knows how many other identities stripped away to reveal this: the man sitting in front of me, laughing in the starlight. 

I swallow, hard, and reach out a tentative hand. "Is this...okay?" I ask, taking Nureyev's hand in my own.

"Why, yes, I believe it is." He squeezes back, reassuring and firm.

I had forgotten how well we fit together. His fingers are rougher than they used to be, evidence of a difficult few months, but they are warm and slender and slot perfectly against mine.

I try not to let the relief show on my face. "So that brings us to...now, I guess."

"Quite a lot has happened since I've seen you."

"Yeah, you could say that." We both laugh a little again, finally able to cross over the hurt instead of wading through it. It is still there, just barely, but the second empire of Venus wasn’t built in a day, was it?

Nureyev swings his long legs up onto the bed, resting against the headboard. "And life keeps on rolling. It's been an eventful day, hasn't it?"

I have to agree with him. Completing our first official job as part of Buddy Aurinko’s (soon to be) legendary crew caries a certain kind of weight, especially knowing that we had “adequately accomplished our mission objectives.” Buddy’s words, not mine.

"Zolotovna's party was just the icing on the cake,” I say.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He rolls out his shoulders as he speaks, catlike, and I can see Peter Nureyev in his smile, the old thief who dirtied his fingertips with nothing but other people’s riches.

"It was a _heist_."

"So? What difference does that make?"

I hesitate, considering. I have to admit, the party was _fun_. Buddy went all out on the disguises; the dress felt like woven candlelight against my skin. Sure does make a lady feel confident when the world seems to stop while you spin instead.

"I did," I say firmly. "Did you?"

"Oh, but of course I did, darling. It's not every day one gets to dance at a ball such as that one, surrounded by such wonderful music, expensive decor, and beautiful people.” He looks at me and winks. “Say, Juno, where did you learn to dance like that?"

_Oh. Oh no_. No matter how much time has passed I seem to carry Ben with me everywhere I go, from the way I drink my coffee to the way I dance. I’ve gotten used to it at this point, but every once in a while I still _feel_ like I did that day, opening the door to find him on the floor, my life hurtling out of control. I feel helpless.

"I, uh...my brother. My brother taught me. He died a long time ago.”

Nureyev looks up at me, apologies and sympathy rising to his blood-red lips. I don’t think I can hear them right now. It wasn’t his fault and there isn’t anything to be done. Sarah is beyond justice, Benten is beyond help, and I am beyond the stars.

I wave his words away before the light-hearted moment can slip away again. I am determined to stretch it out for as long as possible, to do whatever it takes to keep him laughing and grinning all night long.

“Like I said, it was a long time ago. I, uh, don’t really want to get into it, if that’s alright with you?”

He nods easily. “Of course, darling, of course. If you ever want to talk, however, I would always be happy to listen.”

“Thanks, Nureyev,” I say softly. Is this happening? Is this real? It doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I am floating away on some ridiculous fantasy drunk-me cooked up after too many hours spent trying to drown in a whiskey glass. I’m going to wake up any moment now, a hangover splitting my head and regret already returning.

He squeezes my hand again, pulling me back out of my thoughts. “What was his name?”

“What?”

“Your brother.”

I try to keep my voice steady as I reply. “Benzaiten. Ben for short. We are- were. We were twins.” It hurts more than I thought it would, saying it out loud. I think Nureyev notices this because he pulls me into a hug. I let my head fall to his shoulder and don’t move, his hands tracing patterns on my back.

“Well, darling, I think you would have made him proud today.” I can feel Nureyev’s voice vibrate in his chest as he speaks.

I swallow. “Thanks.” Any other time just that word would have felt inadequate, but I know he doesn’t need me to wax poetic about how grateful I am that he is here. He _knows_.

He smells like home. Well, not like Mars, but like what a home _would_ smell like- old memories, new adventures, and something soothing running through it all.

“Nureyev?”

He shifts slightly and I pull away. “Yes?”

“Are you tired?”

Nureyev doesn’t let go of me entirely, a hand still cradling my own. “Tired? No, I don’t think so. Are you? It is rather late, you should probably rest soon. It’s been quite a long day, hasn’t it?”

“Yes- I mean no, wait yeah, hang on-“

Nureyev laughs as I stumble over my words. “Take your time, dear, we’ve got all night I believe.”

I glare at him half-heartedly, barely registering anything but his casual _dear_. He slips a little sentiment into every other sentence and I’m supposed to be able to function? Hah, not very likely. “What I’m _trying_ to say is it’s been a long day but _no_ , I’m not tired.” I rub my neck with my free hand awkwardly. This whole _feelings_ thing is a lot harder than he makes it look. “I was just wondering if you wanted to do something…with me?”

“Oh of course I would, Juno, did you have anything in mind?” He raises a perfect eyebrow questioningly.

The honest answer is yes. But now I’m starting to doubt myself. Is it a bad idea? “Well,” I say slowly, “Never mind. It was stupid.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t, darling,” he reassures me. “What is it?”

I smile and get to my feet, pulling him off the bed with me. “I’m going to hold you to that,” I threaten, “So no complaining.”

Nureyev smiles. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of it.”

~~~

The Carte Blanche isn’t a huge ship, exactly, but it’s definitely not very small. Hence Nureyev and I’s ability to slip out of my room and into the largest empty room onboard the ship without detection. It’s the mirror image of the “living room” on the opposite end of the ship.

Nureyev opens the door and I feel his hands brush my waist as we duck inside. One wall of the room entirely floor-to-ceiling windows, galaxies and supernovas glittering beyond the thick crystal. I move toward them, transfixed by the power and beauty of it. Reminds me of a certain _someone_.

“Stunning, isn’t it,” he breathes, and I am suddenly aware of how close we are.

I nod and tear my gaze away from the stars, scanning the room instead. It’s empty except for the two of us and, judging by the layer of dust, we are the first people to enter since before we left Mars.

“What was it you had wanted to do?” Nureyev asks, staring around for some hint of a surprise. He doesn’t look disappointed, though, when I pull out Jet’s music machine.

“I thought maybe- don’t laugh-“ I say sharply, trying not to sound like an idiot. “Well, dancing with you today was pretty amazing, even though we didn’t exactly get to finish the song, because of the whole…”

He nods in understanding. “Yes, the part where you had to steal something out from under the noses of hundreds of watchful eyes and I had to distract Zolotovna.”

“Yep, that’s it. By the way, what _was_ up with her?” I fiddle with the buttons on the small box, trying desperately how to remember how it worked. The last time I saw one of these, I wasn’t exactly attempting to use it. I vaguely remember smashing at least one…

He sighs. “That, dear detective, is what happens when you put two dramatic people in a situation together, each with a role they are trying to play. I believe she confessed her love to me, but at that point, I was a little, ahem, _distracted_.”

I look up and catch him staring at me, smiling. “Fair enough,” I say, gritting my teeth and muttering under my breath, “ _Stupid computers_.”

I’m about to toss it out the airlock and call it a day when Nureyev is at my side, his hands brushing mine, gently prying the music box out of my fingers.

“Let me help,” he says softly, sounding in no way condescending or impatient, “I’ve used these before.”

And with a few simple adjustments, he hands it back to me, soft music trailing out of the speakers. I turn up the volume and set it on the floor, letting the bittersweet melody drift into the air.

Nureyev closes his eyes briefly, his face settling into relaxed contentment. He turns and offers me his arm. “My fair lady, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”

I grin. “Sure, Nureyev.”

He sweeps me to face him, settling a hand on my waist and gently squeezing my other. With an unspoken cue from both of us, he takes the lead and we slowly waltz across the floor.

I feel like I’m floating on air as the music picks up in tempo, the melody swelling into crescendos with lower undertones of a solid bass grounding it. A slow turn, accomplished in several sweeping steps, turns into Nureyev twirling me, holding me at arm's length.

“My, Juno, you are quite light on your feet,” he remarks, drawing us back closer together.

“I could say the same about you.” He keeps perfect rhythm with the music, every move is graceful and sharp.

He spins away from me briefly as the music reaches the height of its intensity, doing some sort of…ballet _thing_. I don’t know what it is, Ben was the dancer, not me, but I do know this: he looks _very_ good doing it.

Then we’re together again, somehow dancing like the world is watching with bated breath yet not fearing what might happen if one of us slips up.

We don’t, of course.

I can almost imagine the scene around us, Nureyev wearing his elegantly tailored suit Buddy had made for this job, my skirts flowing with every step like water over rocks.

“Thank you, dear.”

I brace his back with my hands and gently dip him, asking for silent permission before almost lowering him to the floor, bringing him back up to face me. “Anytime.”

The song ends, smoothly transitioning into something…a little different. The somber tones of the piano are replaced by something more upbeat, a little crackly sounding like it was recorded a long time ago.

Nureyev looks at me questioningly as the song starts to play, weaving and bobbing with fervor. “Did you pick the music?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Nope. No idea how.” But something about it is familiar, like a memory of candlelight from many years ago. “Hang on,” I say slowly, “I think I know this song.”

A man begins to sing, crooning about the moon and his love, and I place it- Sarah used to play this on the small radio when Ben and I were little. He loved this song as much as she did, maybe more.

It’s too upbeat for a classic waltz like before, but I take his hand anyway. “This is a fun one.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

And off we go again, spinning and twirling in this empty room, the stars lighting our feet. I close my eyes, letting memories of late nights with Ben supply me with the steps. I let go of his hand, remembering the way my brother would laugh as I stumbled through his careful choreography.

_“Not like that, Juno, add a bit more swing to the hips! Now you’re getting it. Quick step to the right, back to the left- don’t let the beat slip away from you, there you go- spin here. Geez, Steel, you’re like a robot! Have fun with it! Make it up on the spot if that helps you relax.”_

I listened to him then, I’m listening now. I feel fluid, like liquid starshine, letting the music flow through the air and curl around my body.

Nureyev laughs, bringing me back to the present. “You do know this song quite well, I’m guessing.”

“Uh, yeah, I do. Listened to it a lot growing up.”

“Care to show me the steps?”

It’s a different feeling, sharing these pieces of Benzaiten with another person. I understand his exasperation now, but Nureyev catches on before the song ends. By the time the final trumpet sounds, we’re both dancing around each other, smiling and laughing, our hands brushing.

Jet’s little box is unpredictable. One song is one of the waltzes Zolotovna played at her party, another is a light and airy number that Nureyev demonstrates a complicated ballet move to (remnants of a strange childhood, he tells me), and the next is a strange combination of off-kilter beats and flashes of sound.

“Is it just me,” I pant a while later, feeling more than a little sweaty, “or is it getting hot in here?”

“I believe it’s the result of some strenuous dancing, love. Would you like to stop for a moment?”

I grimace. “Yeah, maybe just for a bit. I’m really enjoying this, though.”

“And I as well.”

We end up sitting in front of the windows, the music still playing softly in the background, watching as the universe seems to swallow us whole, the Carte Blanche speeding to its next destination. I can’t remember where Buddy said we were going, but now it doesn’t matter all that much.

Nureyev’s knees bump into mine as he leans back on his hands, somehow seeming to survey the heavens and me at the same time. “Beautiful,” he says in wonder and somehow, I know he isn’t talking about the stars.

I don’t say anything. I lean into his side slightly, feeling his warmth against me. As I do I catch sight of my reflection in the crystal.

I look exactly like Ben. I mean, we _were_ identical, but something is different somehow. He always had a light in his eyes, a smile on his lips, and now…well, now I think I know what that must have felt like.

It feels like home.

Here, soaring through the stars with hope at my feet and Nureyev by my side, I feel like I'm home.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've read this far, thank you so much! please leave a comment telling me what you liked they feed my soul and fuel my writing process
> 
> here are links to the music if you want to listen and get a feel for what i was going for  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SUT_0c2QVzo (the waltz)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEcqHA7dbwM (fly me to the moon)


End file.
